


get over it (it's growing old)

by jetpacks



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: /shrug, Alternate Universe - Music, Gen, M/M, Reconciliation, is... that the tag for musician!characters?? anyway, short n sweet reconciliation fic with perpetually snervous evan and musician jared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21605545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetpacks/pseuds/jetpacks
Summary: Jared's back in town for winter break, and he's got a gig booked at a local bar. After a back-and-forth with himself, Evan decides to come.
Relationships: Evan Hansen & Heidi Hansen, Evan Hansen & Jared Kleinman, Evan Hansen/Jared Kleinman
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	get over it (it's growing old)

**Author's Note:**

> ~~this is the first thing ive written and finished since may i believe v_____v~~ nvm i wrote another kleinsen reconciliation fic like a month ago. anyway a lot of things have happened that just have left me in the wrong brainspace for writing, some good & some bad, so . BUT. i like this well enough.  
> p.s. the lyrics in the title & in the story are actually from a song i wrote for my band (idkh2fy) called "face: numb" : - ) if we ever actually release an album i'll link our bandcamp here or smth. not that we're good but Look.

Evan doesn’t look at the flier the first ten times he passes it. It’s taped to the brick wall that houses the door to the cafe he’s been working at for the past six months, and it’s miraculous, truly, how it stays on, given that a) even vinyl tape isn’t good at sticking to brick walls, and b) it’s been awfully windy lately. Nonetheless, it persists, attached steadfast to the wall.

As he enters the cafe on the sixth day it’s up, five minutes early for his shift, he finally gives it the decent look it probably deserves- and pales, old anxiety creeping up on him in moments. Like so many fliers that get posted near the cafe, it’s for some musician or another, and normally, Evan would have no problem with that- he’s even been to a few of the shows; they’re not bad at all- but the name that’s splayed in simple black lettering upon the page makes his heart leap into his throat:  **JARED KLEINMAN.**

Come to think of it, Jared  _ would  _ be back in town- it’s coming up on winter break, the holiest of holy months for students- but did he have to make himself so, well,  _ known?  _ If only for Evan’s peace of mind. Not that he’s  _ scared  _ of Jared, but the entire situation surrounding their falling out is too anxiety-provoking to even think about. Jared’s a physical reminder of how bad he fucked up, how much he hurt people. Never again. Never  _ ever  _ again.

Evan reaches out a timid hand and slips one index finger beneath the corner of the flier, but decides against tearing it down; instead, he heaves a sigh and heads inside.

The concert’s free. That’s what it says on the flier, anyway; technically, the bar it’s hosted at has a two-drink minimum, but it’s a cheap place, and the Coke products are fine. Not that Evan likes soft drinks, but he may as well just get that instead of something more expensive- not to mention, all that stuff is alcoholic, and it’s not like he’s got a fake ID or anything.

Except he’s  _ not  _ going to the show, he reminds himself as he steps outside into the blustery evening. Why would he? Jared wants nothing to do with him, hasn’t in three years. (The tiny, traitorous seed of hope at the back of his brain reminds him that  _ hey, maybe that’s enough time for him to have forgiven you.  _ He hushes it with a mental finger to his lips.) 

Still, as his boot-clad footfalls echo in the ever-emptying streets, Evan can’t seem to get his mind off of Jared. Since when is he a musician? The guy was always borderline obsessed with music, true, but last he heard, he hadn’t made any proper musical endeavors except for having been in choir in middle school. Come to think of it, though, it suits him.

Before he realizes he’s doing it, Evan slips the glove halfway off of his right hand, allowing his thumb to breathe free, and navigates to Twitter on his phone. Steeling himself, he types in @jaredkleinman, only to be greeted with what he has been since senior year: a message about how  _ this user has you blocked, so you can’t read their Tweets, go fuck yourself lol.  _ Okay, that last part is an exaggeration, but that’s certainly what it feels like. 

So he really shouldn’t come to the performance. He really, really,  _ really  _ shouldn’t. Jared would probably point him out amongst the crowd and go, “Fuck you, Evan, what the hell are you doing here? Get lost!” And then he’d have to deal with  _ that  _ mortifying ordeal on top of the mortifying ordeal of showing up anywhere within 10 miles of Jared. 

When Evan kicks off his shoes in the mudroom, his mother calls out from the living room, asking, “How was work, honey?” There’s a distracted tone in her voice, but Evan’s long since grown used to it. He doesn’t blame her anymore; three years is enough time for him to have grown out of that, at least.

“It was fine,” Evan calls back after a sigh. It doesn’t sound convincing, he’s well aware, and Heidi catches on, too.

He steps into the kitchen, glancing at the cupboard in hope of there still being some hot cocoa mix that he can use to warm up with. When he approaches, he nearly bumps into Heidi as she rounds the corner from the living room; with a little shriek, he steps back, then cracks a tiny, hollow smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Heidi says, dismissing his worries. “Is something wrong? You don’t look too good.”

“This is how I always look.”

“...Well…” Heidi pauses. “Still, did something happen?”

Evan shakes his head and shrugs off his coat, depositing it on the counter- he’ll hang it up later. “Everything’s fine, Mom.”

“If you say so…” Heidi says. Still, there’s something in her voice that makes Evan take pity on her. 

“...Okay… um.” Evan scratches his arm, leaving white, evanescent streaks that disappear in moments. “Did you know that Jared’s back in town? Or… he will be?”

Heidi blinks, looking a bit confused. “Well, yeah. It’s winter break soon, isn’t it?” 

“Right, but…” Evan sighs, glances out the window; it’s begun to snow, white flakes dancing downward to land softly on faded grass. “I saw a flier outside the door at work. Uh, he’s performing at some bar in town.”

“I’ve got two questions,” Heidi says. “One- do you want some hot cocoa?”

“Yeah, yes,” Evan says, face brightening just the slightest bit. “What’s the second question?”

As she opens the cupboard and reaches to grab the powdery mix, Heidi asks, “Are you going to go see him?”

“What? No, Mom, I can’t just… waltz in there and go, ‘Hey, Jared, I know I was a total dick to you in senior year and- and used you and hurt a bunch of people and-’” Evan takes a deep breath, then sighs it out. In for four, hold for four, out for four, hold for four. Good ol’ square breathing.

“Why not?” Heidi grabs two mugs from the cupboard next to the one with the food in it, one with a tabby cat on it (for her), the other with a golden retriever on it (for him).

“Come again?”

“Why not?” 

“Why not? Because, because, because-” Another deep breath. Shit, he hasn’t had to take his PRN in a long time, but maybe he should consider it.  _ “Because  _ I don’t want him to get mad at me. I just want to… leave him be. It’s what’s best for him.”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Heidi says, which isn’t anything Evan doesn’t know, but it’s nice to hear anyway. “Still… it’s been three years, Evan. You don’t think that maybe,  _ maybe  _ he would’ve forgiven you by now? Zoe did.”

“He’s still got me blocked on Twitter.”

“Well… d’you want your mom’s opinion?” Heidi pours milk into the dog mug first, then stirs in the mix.

“You’ve been giving me your opinion for the past three minutes,” Evan deadpans.

Heidi chuckles. “Well, do you want the  _ rest  _ of my opinion?”

Evan sighs, sticks his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Sure, why not.”

_ “I  _ think you should go. Take chances! Make mistakes!” Four beeps overlap Heidi’s words as she taps at the buttons on the microwave.

“Did you just quote The Magic Schoolbus at me?” Evan snorts, runs a hand through his hair. 

“Oh, don’t be like that; you used to  _ love  _ that show.” Heidi reaches out and ruffles the aforementioned hair, at which Evan grumbles and smooths it down again. “That’s just my two cents, though. Feel free to ignore me.”

“...I’ll think about it,” Evan says, voice hesitant, but he finds that he’s not entirely lying.

Hours later, Evan finally sets his laptop aside- he’d been working on a final project for his poetry class, which wasn’t necessary for his AA degree (which he’s completing at a snail’s pace), but was nice to take anyway- and curls up beneath the blankets on his bed. Grabbing his phone from his nightstand, he takes a quick look at Twitter- no notifications except for an acquaintance from work liking one of his Retweets. The same can be said of Instagram; one person he follows- nobody he knows personally, just an artist he admires- has posted a new photo, but it only takes seconds to take in, and, with a resigned sigh, Evan places the phone back on the stand.

What if he  _ did  _ go? What’s the worst that could possibly happen? It’s one of the things he was taught in cognitive behavior therapy- how can he change his thoughts to something more realistic? 

Well, hypothetically, Jared  _ could  _ point him out in the crowd and cuss him out, effectively ruining his reputation (at least among the people at the bar) and probably forcing him to leave. Of course, Jared’s not really the type to stand up for himself. That’s why it was so easy to snap at him when they split- he wasn’t counting on him coming back with anything. Evan winces at the memory; how could he be so callous? It was a long time ago, sure, but it’s not as if the regret is gone. Jared’s pain probably isn’t gone, either.

What’s he thinking even  _ considering  _ showing up to the performance? Jared wouldn’t want him there. It’d just be a memory of how much they hurt each other. If Evan had his way, they’d still be friends, and he’d just be showing up to support a buddy and hear what are most assuredly some good tunes… but nah, he’d fucked  _ that  _ right up.

Still, that niggling voice of what remaining optimism he has left taunts him.  _ What if things turned out alright this time? What if you  _ could  _ reconcile your differences?  _ Evan’s sorely tempted to listen, but why should he? All his luck was used up when Zoe- and, by extension, the rest of the Murphys- forgave him. There’s no way he’d be granted any modicum of amnesty. __

Unless.  _ Unless.  _

“Oh, whatever,” Evan mutters, closing his eyes tight. The hope, despite the dark, persists.

The nice thing about shows like these is that you don’t need a ticket to enter. In fact, Evan has all day to change his mind with no financial loss. He could change his mind halfway through the set! Which is actually a huge relief, calming his nerves whenever they act up, if only a little. But, God, are they acting up- he’s tripped over sentences too many times, earning him stares from customers as he stammers out their totals. Thankfully, none of them were as terrible as they could have been (the customer is always right, as his manager is so keen on reminding him).

By the time he gets off work, Evan’s nearly shaking in his boots, and not just because of the cold. It’s hard to imagine that there was a time when he was doing so well that he didn’t need his meds; hard to even imagine that he was doing alright before the reminder of Jared’s existence happened upon him.  _ Why  _ is it fucking him up so bad? Why does he have such strong feelings about Jared? It’s not even like they were particularly close before they split, and it’d been three years. Maybe he’s not even the same person anymore. Maybe things have changed even more than Evan had accounted for.

Still, at 7:00 PM sharp, Evan finds himself walking into the bar, thanking God it’s not one of the ones that required he be of legal drinking age. He can sense the neckline of his sweater crawling up his throat, strangling him; taking a deep breath in, he shuts his eyes and counts to ten. The pressure relieves itself somewhat, so he continues his trek over to the bar.

The bartender is someone he vaguely recognizes from high school- Evan’s pretty sure she was a senior when he was a sophomore. He greets her with a nod of his head and a short but very well-rehearsed “hey.”

“Hey,” she says in return, “what can I get you?”

“Just, um… I guess a Hi-C. Do you have Hi-C here?” The amount of embarrassment Evan is crushed under is far from zero.

“We sure do,” the bartender says, and, within a moment, the sick-sweet non-alcoholic swill is pushed towards him in a clear mug. Evan doesn’t touch it.

He pauses, then, as there comes applause from the crowd. Turning toward the tiny stage, Evan freezes, heart lurching. God, there he is- Jared Kleinman, after three years. He looks… different. Is that the hint of a beard? Choking down something he can’t quite name, Evan averts his eyes and stares into his mug of Hi-C. Jared doesn’t seem to have noticed him, or, if he does, he hasn’t pointed him out and shamed him in front of the crowd. At least there’s that.

Jared taps the microphone, soft booms ringing out into the bar. Then, he leans in toward the mic and says, “Hey, everyone. How’s your night going?” Hold for applause. “Great, cool. Well, my name’s Jared Kleinman, and this first song is called ‘Split’. Not like the horror movie, cuz that one sucked.” Hushed laughter ripples through the crowd, and Evan joins in, nervous despite things going fine so far. 

It’s then that Jared begins to play, expertly handling his guitar in a simple, folk punk-y melody. Evan stares at his drink, zoned out for a minute, before the music really hits him.

_ “Fuck it, I swear, I don’t wanna care,”  _ Jared sings, voice rough around the edges.  _ “What’s the matter? Fuck it, I swear, I’ll end this affair!” _

Evan pauses. Could this be about him? A song about him  _ would  _ sound frustrated, even angry, just like this one. Although, to be fair, what they had wasn’t an affair, but… well, how would you even go about writing a song about writing fake emails that looked like they were from some kid who flung himself off this mortal coil? It’s close enough to an affair. ...He’s overthinking this.

It takes him a long time to turn his head to look over at the stage, but when he does, Evan finally does it: makes eye contact with Jared. Jared blinks, falters, but is back on track and looking away within a moment:  _ “Go on and tell me, tell me, why should I care?”  _ His voice trails off as he finishes the song. He swallows, stares at his guitar for a few seconds, then looks back up at the crowd as they cheer for him. “Thank you, thank you,” he says, but he still sounds shaken.

This was a mistake. Evan shouldn’t have come. Of  _ course  _ he shouldn’t have! He’s thrown Jared off his game; now the rest of the set is going to be a disaster. Of course, that could be completely overestimating how much of an impact he would make. When has he ever had an impact on anything? Well, during the whole Connor Project debacle, but… he doesn’t want to think about that right now. Shaking his head, he slaps a bill of indeterminate value- probably ten bucks- on the bar and slides out of his seat, making a French exit as he leaves the building. 

Why he didn’t just go home straight from the bar is something Evan’s not sure about; something drew him to the place, he supposes. A desire to meet Jared? Probably, though it’s stupid, probably the worst idea he’s had lately. Still, that’s where he stands, loitering outside the back door with nothing else to do.

“Hey.”

Evan shrieks and whips around as he hears a voice sound from just next to him. His face softens, though, as he recognizes who’s standing there. “...Jared?”

“Who else, dumbass?” Jared rolls his eyes. He pauses for a few moments before adding, “Can’t believe you came to my show.”

Evan swallows; then, numbly, he says, “I can’t believe it, either.”

Silence.

“Thanks,” Jared says, one word piercing the quiet in a way Evan hadn’t expected.

“...No problem? You’re welcome,” Evan says in return, scratching at his scalp. “I don’t get it, though. Why are you… I mean, why are you even talking to me? Don’t you hate me or something?”

Jared shrugs, sets his guitar case down next to his feet. “I mean… don’t get me wrong, I still think you’re kind of a dick.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.”  
“You were. At the time.” Jared takes a deep breath in, then rubs his cheeks in circles, presumably trying to work heat back into them. “...We need to talk.”

“I’d like that very much, yeah,” Evan says, before he even realizes he’s thought it. Being this close to Jared brings something out of him, a deep yearning to make up, to be known again- has he always felt this way? Somewhere deep down, probably, behind walls of anxiety.

“Cool,” Jared says simply.

...More silence.

“So, were we gonna-”

“I’m sorry, okay?”

Jared and Evan’s voices overlap, and Evan’s face reddens; after clearing his throat, he says, “Sorry, I, um, I wasn’t trying to interrupt or anything, I’m sorry. And I’m also sorry for… for… you know.”

Jared considers him for a moment, looking him up and down. “It’s not really much of an apology if you end it in ‘you know’.”

“Well, I don’t want to say it where everyone can… oh, whatever.” Evan glances around, checking to make sure there’s no, say, bartenders on their smoke break, before continuing. “I’m sorry I took advantage of you, okay? It was really shitty of me to do. You mean more to me than some… some  _ emails.” _

Jared’s lips tick up into a wry half-smile. “Now we’re getting somewhere. And really, like…” He sighs, leans back against the dingy brick wall. “Senior year me wouldn’t have thought he’d ever say this, but… you’re forgiven.” Picking at one of his cuticles, he adds, “It’s been three years. I’m ready to let it go.”

“Then why are you still singing angry songs about me?” Evan asks, cocking his head to the left. “Or, I guess, I don’t know that that song was about me, and I have a problem with being presumptuous, but also like, I’m the least presumptuous person on Earth, it’s kinda complex, but, y’know, Walt Whitman, I contain multi-”

“Oh, my God.”

“Sorry.”

“I sing that song because it’s my most popular one,” Jared explains. “People like a good angry folk song.”

“You did get quite a bit of applause.” It’s Evan’s turn to sigh now. “And, um. It’s good, y’know, for a song that’s kind of a giant ‘fuck you’ to me.”

“I was going through a lot, okay?” Jared says, sticking his (surely freezing) hands in his pockets.

“I’m sorry,” Evan says again. “And… okay. I promise it won’t happen again. I don’t know if we’re friends again or what, but like, I swear to God. No more emails. No more… anything.”

“Well,  _ duh,  _ no more emails,” Jared says, rolling his eyes.

“You know what I mean. Let me be genuine here for a second, okay?” As it dawns on him that his own hands are cold as hell, Evan rubs the back of one with the thumb of the other, then stuffs them into the pockets of his fleece-lined coat. “I want us to be good again. I’ve wanted to be good for a long time, I think. So… are we?”

Jared thinks on it a moment, turning his eyes up to the sky. Then, with a snarky grin, he reaches out to shove Evan gently in the shoulder. “Yeah, dumbass, I  _ literally  _ just forgave you.” The grin fades ever so slightly for a moment as he adds, “Just as long as you don’t pull something like that again.”

“I won’t,” Evan promises, repeating his oath, and then the grin is back. He takes a deep breath in, chilly air ticking the back of his throat, before he adds, “Um, I work at that Starbucks down the street now. If you wanna come in and grab a cup of coffee, I can, like, get you the friends and family discount.”

“Oh, wow. Living deliciously.” Jared snickers. “Yeah, man, that’d be great.” He rocks back on his heels, then forward on the balls of his feet, as he continues, “But, look. I gotta get home. My mom’s waiting for me.”

“Right, of course,” Evan says, and nods, and is about to turn toward the street when he pauses and asks, “Wait. Can you, like…”

“...Can I what?” Jared presses.

“Can you unblock me on Twitter or something?”

For a reason that Evan can’t decipher, that’s apparently funny to Jared, because he starts laughing a little, huffing breaths coming out in puffs of white air. “Yeah, alright.” He pulls out his phone and taps at it a couple of times, types in a few things, taps again, and gives Evan a smile that he could almost describe as tender. “Check it.”

Evan fishes his own phone out of a pocket in his jeans and navigates to Twitter, where he’s got one new notification:  **Jared Kleinman followed you.** Upon tapping on his name, Evan’s greeted with the first tweet of Jared’s that he’s seen in years: _ “Just played a set at a bar in my hometown and made up with an old friend. Happy Hanukkah to me, indeed.” _

“Don’t get all sappy,” Jared warns him, but it’s all Evan can do to not pull him into a bear hug. 

“I’ll try not to,” Evan says. He cracks a smile, glancing down at his feet, then looks back up. “Um, your mom…”

“Right! Yeah, you know how she is.” Jared scratches the back of his neck, then asks, “Do you want a ride home? I think I still remember where you live.”

“I’d love one,” Evan says, and thinks that maybe,  _ maybe  _ everything could work out right this time.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i love you!


End file.
